The Great Game of Time Travel
by SoManyWords
Summary: Ever wondered what would happen if The Doctor met Sherlock Holmes? And, with The Doctor keeping secrets from his companions, can Sherlock Holmes figure it out? (Includes characters such as Amy, Rory, John, Molly)
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

Molly rushed into the lab, a coffee in her hand, trying (very unsuccessfully) not to spill it down her lab coat. It was warm against her skin, almost burning her, but she grit her teeth against the pain as she ran up to him. "Here you go, Sherlock."

Snatching the cup from her hand, he sipped it and made a face, his words cutting, "Not your best line of work, Molly." He made her feel very insignificant.

"Sorry."

"Ignore him," John smiled, patting her shoulder lightly, "He's just having a bad day." Ah, John. How kind he was. Molly smiled at him.

"I'm having a neutral day, John. It is neither good nor bad and I do wish you'd stop insisting that it was either," He snapped, "Now. Molly. Another cup of coffee, if you would."

"Sherlock, you can't expect her to get you _another_ cup of coffee."

He frowned, a light crease appearing between his eyebrows. "The usual was not up to standard. I do not understand."

Molly sighed, closing her eyes briefly. This provided perfect opportunity to do what she'd been planning to do for the past few months - ask Sherlock Holmes out. It was silly and she knew that, but the stupidity of it didn't cease the tiny spark of hope she had left.

Because... What if he _did_ like her? It was mad. It was impossible. But who knew what went on in Sherlock's funny brain? What if it was her? Plus, the impossible things did sometimes have a way of becoming possible.

With a hasty glance up at him and down at her hands, Molly took a deep breath. "Actually, I was... thinking that maybe later... If you're free we could g - go for coffee...?" She raised her eyes to his.

He frowned. "That doesn't make any sense, Molly. I want a coffee now."

John let out such a long sigh from beside her, she couldn't help but cringe. Still, determined as ever, she continued, "I meant like a ... date?" Oh, _why_ did she have to sound so nervous?

"What would I want one of those for?" He snapped, blinking repeatedly.

"No, I just thought -"

"Boring, ugly, nasty things. No, Molly. We do not want any dates here, thank you very much."

"Oh." Rejection washed through her, his voice like ice on her neck. Oh. Of course. "Okay."

"I consider myself married to my work, Molly. Do not be so stupid."

"Okay."

"Sherlock!" John's voice sounded, his tone angry.

"Oh, _what_?" Sherlock snarled, "As if she really thought I'd go on one of those nasty date things."

"Okay," Molly repeated, her face burning in embarrassment as she slowly began to make her way towards the door, "I'll just be going, then."

"First, Molly. Coffee."

"_Sherlock_!"

Molly made her way out the door, hanging her lab coat on the top of it. She was so stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Kicking the ground, she made her way to the lift, glad to see no one was there. Not that it mattered. She didn't cry. That would have been even more stupid.  
Molly didn't care what anyone said, she was having her lunch early. She needed the fresh air and thinking time before she faced Sherlock again. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Why did she do it? What had possessed her? This went beyond the normal of her usual stupidity which was saying a lot.  
The air was cool on her warm face when she finally left the stupid hospital with stupid Sherlock Holmes. Taking a deep breath, she tried to get as far away as possible. Away from The Morgue, away from _him_.  
She would never be his. Ever. Why would she? _What_ was she? Nothing. Not in his eyes. Not ever.  
Molly gritted her teeth, desperately trying not to cry. Of course she was nothing. She was not special, she was not brilliant.

Molly rounded the corner where there were less people. She was not amazing, not like the likes of... of... Irene Adler! And Irene Adler was everything she wasn't; beautiful, funny, clever.  
Molly didn't take notice of her surroundings as she walked, passing things such as lamp-posts, the corner shop, a stop sign, a police box...  
She was nothing. She was absolutely -

"Ow!" Molly squeaked as a man ran into her, knocking her at full force onto the ground, the gravel below grazing her hands, "Ow, ow!"

"Ah! Oh. Ah. Well, that does happen sometimes," The man's voice sounded. Molly blinked, trying to see his face but her vision was too clouded. However, she _could_ see him glance awkwardly around himself before pulling her to her feet and dusting her off. "Sorry. In a bit of a rush there. Rather dashy -" He paused, making a face, "Dashy? Hm. Do I like that word? I think I do. Dashy. Are you okay there, Louise?"

Molly blinked, still completely disorientated, "L - Louise?"

"YES! First name that came to mind, really. You look like a Louise," He nodded as he pulled a long object from his coat pocket and gestured it towards her. It made an annoying buzzing sound and she couldn't help but blink as he moved it right down to her feet and back up again, frowning, "Loo for short. Maybe. I don't know. I'm not good with names. I'm not good with anything, really, and especially ice skating. Do not ask me to ice skate."

"O - Okay," She stammered, rubbing her eyes. She felt very sick, the nausea churning in her stomach and the dizziness making her feel light - headed. Without warning, her eyes rolled into the back of her head and she fell to the side but, luckily, the man caught her, trying to hold her upright.

"Whoa, there," He murmured, gently brushing her hair from her face, "Do you need a minute, Louise?"

"Molly."

"Do you know what this is like? This is _exactly_ like how I met Queen Guinevere from Camelot. And wow, did she know how to party. Sorry? Did you say something?"

She opened her eyes properly, trying not to embarrass herself in front of this strange, strange man, "My name is Molly."

He grinned and released her, straightening his bow tie. "Molly? Molly. I like that! Yes. It's sweet. Molly. Molly. Molly. Molly." And despite the situation, she couldn't help but grin back, "Now tell me, Molly. On a scale of one to zero point two nine seven six five seven six four two three one, how ready are you to run?"

"Oh, erm, oh," She frowned, confused by his question, "Ten?"

His grin grew, if possible, even wider as he took her hand tightly and gave it a light squeeze. "Excellent! Exactly what I like to hear. Now, the rules are; Run. Keep running. Don't stop running until I tell you to stop running and if I get distracted by the fez shop, _do not under any circumstances_ let me go inside. Okay?"

"Okay," She answered, her eyes bright and brown with excitement and wonder at this man.  
"Oh and, by the way, I'm The Doctor. The pleasure is all yours."

That's when they started running.

**Writer's Note: _Well, thank you very much for reading. It means a lot. I wasn't going to post it but LOTS OF people said they liked it. Okay, three. Okay, one was my mother. Shut up._**


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

The disappearances had been happening more frequently that month. Four missing every thirteen days, four hours and seven minutes unlike last month, where there were only two missing every thirteen days, four hours and, not seven minutes but twelve minutes.

Sherlock Holmes closed his eyes. Odd, that. However, it was evident that there was a perfectly logical explanation for the people missing. A work of a serial killer, perhaps? It didn't seem so as the bodies hadn't been found yet, and serial killers tended to dump the bodies for pathetic recognition. Idiots. Oh, but how Sherlock _adored _a good serial killer. There was nothing more thrilling than the thrill of the chase.

"_Are you even listening to me?_ A voice sounded from beside him. Angry. It sounded angry. Ah, it was John. Angry; naturally.

"A reply would have given the implication that I was listening. However, due to the fact that I did not respond, that should have given you some inkling."

"Sherlock, you can stop that now and bloody well listen to me because I've had it up to here with you," He snapped, "What you did to Molly was horrible and you know it."

Sherlock let out a long sigh, opening his eyes. He was resting on the sofa, his long legs stretched out over the end, his hands positioned in that familiar prayer position. "I was honest, John. What more do you want?"

"I want you to show a bit of compassion. And I know that's near _impossible _for you but one day you're going to need Molly and she's not going to be there for you."

"Need her?" He frowned, "What do you mean, need her?"

"Oh, I don't know! Just get it into your heartless, black soul and -"

"Ooo, heartless, black soul," He mused, sitting up, "We're being creative today, aren't we? I applaud you, John."

John let out an obvious breath through his nose, pressing his lips together in a tight line. "Fix it."

"_What do you expect me to do?" _He snapped, jumping up, "Go out on a date? Get her coffee? Act like I care? Because, if it has failed to notice your remarkably short attention span, John, I do not care."

There was a long pause where John stared at him, cold and long and Sherlock stared back, his eyes narrowed harshly. When he spoke, he voice was surprisingly soft, "I think we both know that's not true. If it was, you would have gone out with her to get unlimited access to the lab."

"Were."

"What?"

"If it _were _true. WERE. NOT WAS," He shouted, as he made his way to the door, aggressively pulling it open.

"Oh, where are you going _now?"_

"Out. Don't wait up for me," And with that, he slammed the door behind him, making his way down the stairs. He was still wearing his coat, having not bothered to take it off after his visit to the Morgue.

Sherlock needed peace. He needed quiet. And he needed to visit where the last person had disappeared. Luckily, it wasn't far from the flat, only around the corner really. The sky was dark, making the crime scene seem eerie and almost supernatural. It was a good thing Sherlock didn't believe in anything supernatural, as he believed that if it wasn't logic, it wasn't right.

Ignoring the police tape, Sherlock stepped under it and into the shadows, slowly pulling his gloves from his pocket. A note had been taped to one of the walls and it read, '_**Sherlock Holmes. DOES NOT HAVE PERMISSION TO BE HERE,'**_in Anderson's messy scrawl. Sherlock's lip curled. How pathetic. As if that would stop him.

Reaching for his magnifying glass, he began to inspect the scene, his careful eyes searching for something, _anything_ the police would have missed. They were all morons, so he knew it wouldn't be too hard.

Footprints in the dirt. Aha! They showed the person had been dragged, by force to the other side of the street.

Nail marks.

Nail marks on the fence.

Woman.

Long nails.

Young woman.

More footprints.

Dragged right to the end.

Then, a distinct pattern in the footprints.

Not dragged?

Lack of nail marks.

_Willing?_

His eyes narrowed. Why would she go from being struggling to willing? Surely, someone putting up that much of a fight would have not had such a sudden change. Oh, A _mystery. _Christmas had come early!

"Found anything interesting?"

Sherlock jumped and turned around, holding the magnifying glass out in front of him, as a weapon. He rolled his eyes at himself. How human.

"Whoa, mate," The man held his hands up, "Relax. I'm just doing what you're doing. I think."

Sherlock's eyes travelled over the man before he came up with a conclusion. "Hm. Possibly. But why would a happily married doctor be investigating the disappearance of a young woman, especially considering he doesn't know her?"

The man's eyes widened slightly, surprised. "How..."

"How did I know?" He asked, his lips twitching in satisfaction, "Let's see. Married. Evident by the wedding ring on your finger. A child could have deduced that. You're a doctor, obviously. Just look at your hands, cracked and dry from washing them so frequently. Comes with the job description, doesn't it? Let's not forget your uniform hiding under your coat. So, you've just came from work, then? Yes. Yes, of course.

You appeared from the direction of the hospital, therefore doctor. And you have absolutely no idea who this woman is. How do I know that, you ask? Well, isn't that just _simple. _Your eyes. They are bright and refreshed. If you knew someone who had disappeared, there would be bruising just... there," He paused to gesture under the man's eyes, "However, there is a lack of. So, you're not worried because you have never met this woman. So, why would you investigate?

Before you ask, no I am not a mind reader and I know you're impressed but there is nothing but simple logic behind it and, of course I can't expect your mind to comprehend this so I think I'll explain with this:

I am Sherlock Holmes. Consulting detective and the only one in the world. Are you amazed yet? You should be. And, who, I imagine I'll ask, not that I care, are you?"

"...Nurse."

"Sorry?"

"You, uh, you said I was a doctor?" He phrased his voice uncertainly, like a question, "I'm a nurse."

Sherlock blinked at him for a long time. "A _nurse. _Uh. There's always one, isn't there? Well, this is your fault. What kind of a man is a nurse?"

The man straightened up importantly, "A good one, actually."

Waving a dismissive hand, Sherlock turned back to the fence. "I'm aware that you still haven't told me who you are."

"Oh! Uh. I'm Rory. Rory Williams. It's.. nice to meet you?"

"No, Rory. It is certainly not nice. Now, do please leave and allow me to solve this."

Rory crossed his arms, staring at the man, "Well, no I'm won't. I'm investigating."

"Investigating?" Sherlock asked, turning back to him, giving him the once over, "Why would you be investigating? You're an idiot. But don't be offended, everyone is."

"Well, if you must know, I'm investigating for The D – A, uh, friend."

Eyes narrowing sharply, Sherlock didn't miss Rory's slip up. The what? Intriguing. "In case you haven't noticed, this is a crime scene and not available to the public."

Rory looked around, obviously thinking of a way to out wit him. Idiot. "In case you haven't noticed, there's a note over there saying that you don't have permission to be here!"

"I do not care. Leave."

"_No."_

"Now."

"No!"

Sherlock pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a long sigh. This was going to be a long night.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

The Doctor had dragged Molly all over London, running from something but not exactly explaining why or what it was. He was mad, eccentric and Molly hadn't any idea what she was playing at. How could she allow herself to get whisked away by someone she hardly knew?

"Oh, you're a good runner, Molly. Molly. Molly... Molly who?" The Doctor asked after he had hid them in an alley, his head occasionally peeking out onto the busy streets, looking for something.

"Hooper," She replied, breathing heavily, her hair falling from her side pony tale, "What are we running from, again?"

"Running now, questions later," He told her seriously before a smile lit up his face, "Molly Hooper."

"Okay."

Throwing her another smile, this one slightly more brilliant, he glanced hastily around the corner, "We need to get back to the TARDIS."

"T – the what?"

"Ah, Molly Hooper. I need to do the explaining. I love doing the explaining. It's exciting!" He grasped her hand again, "You'll see."

"Oka -" But they had already started running, him pulling her roughly from the alley and down the street, dodging people who looked oddly at them. His hair flopped in and out his eyes every time he turned around to grin at her, and Molly would have to scream at him to _mind that car. _Occasionally she could feel her hand slipping from his, but he'd pause and reach for it again. This was only after he'd made sure she was okay, as if it were the most important thing in the world.

"Now Molly," The Doctor shouted as they ran, pulling her beside him, "Whatever you do, do not look behind you. Do you understand? Because, if you do – Ooo, _a Fez shop!_ What are the odds?" He halted and ran up to the window, his eyes lighting up like a child on Christmas day.

"Come on, Doctor," Molly coxed, pulling gently on his hand, "You said you can't go to any fez shops."

"But they're so pretty! Oh, look Molly Hooper! It has sparkles. Can I get one _please?_"

Molly giggled but tugged his hand again. Strange, strange, strange, "But... if you do... the thing that's chasing us will get us."

The Doctor froze for a short moment before turning towards her and smiling softly. "Right you are." Then he started running again, dragging her along, faster than she'd ever ran before. "I like you, Molly." They ran down a side street, "You're kind. I like kind."

"Thank … you."

The side street was darker than the other streets and Molly remembered frequently passing it on her way to and from work. It was eerie, cold and damp. He dragged her to a police box and released her hand to look for the key. "I know it's here somewhere... Come on."

Molly couldn't help the frown that crossed her face. That was a very small box for two people... Why was he trying to drag her into a box? Her stomach flipped uneasily and worry flooded through her. And _The Doctor? _What kind of a name was that. Molly slowly started to back away. "It's been nice but I think I'm going to go now."

The Doctor, who had been grinning madly, glanced up and his face fell, "Oh? But you haven't seen the best bit, yet,"

"Yes but, I um -" She paused, thinking of an excuse. What were you supposed to do in this situations? " - I'm meeting a friend, so..."

"Molly Hooper?" He asked, taking a step towards her. She automatically stepped back and an undeniable expression of hurt flashed across his face. Molly felt something inside her. Guilt, maybe? Well, that was silly.

"Sorry."

Head tilted, he studied her for a few minutes as Molly debated whether her best option was to run. She watched as a slow smile spread across his face, the action friendly and not at all intimidating. "I know what I've done wrong. You think I'm a mad man with a blue box, don't you?"

She frowned, unsure how to answer. "Yes.."

"Well, Molly Hooper. That is _exactly _what I am. Now..." He opened the door, "Take a look inside."

"Sorry?"

"My box. Look inside! I promise you that you'll be amazed. And if not... Well, I'm doing something wrong and that's madness because I always do everything right, and actually, now that I think about it, I wouldn't mind all that much because I'm rather a fan of madness. And bow ties. Let us not forget bow ties," He paused, straightening his bow tie.

"Um..."

"Molly. Do you trust me?"

"Er.."

"Well that's silly, isn't it? Why would you trust me if you've only just met me? Silly, Molly. But really, you should trust me and take a look inside that blue box."

Molly couldn't help the confusion that swept through her. Did he just tell her not to trust him and then tell her to get inside the box?

It was silly. It was madness. Did she have a death wish? Is that why she took a step towards the box? Either way, she took a step towards the box, looking at him quickly as he grinned at her. She pushed it open and every movement was careful as she slowly peeked inside...

"_No."_

"Yes!"

"_No?"_

"Yes!"

She looked back inside again before flinging herself out and running all the way around the box, looking for the massive room it was connected to. But she found nothing. Running around a second time, she knocked on the wood, waiting for something to happen, for something to appear. Nothing. "But..."

Bouncing on his heels, he took her shoulders excitedly, "I know!"

She stared at him, wide eyed. "But that's impossible!"

"Nothing is impossible, Molly. Nothing! Nothing you can see with your own eyes is impossible and if it _does _appear to be impossible, it just hasn't happened yet."

"But..." She continued to stare, without blinking, "How is that possible?"

"Why should we question the impossible?" He paused, removing one hand from her shoulder to gently tilt her chin, "I can show you a lot of impossible things, if you'd like?"

Molly's eyes, if possible, grew even wider, "Like what?"

"Like... the stars. I can show you them."

"_No."_

"Yes!"

"_No."_

"Trust me." He took a step back, holding out a hand. She watched him, unsure. _Really? _Was she mad? "Trust me," He repeated, his tone soft, a slight smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. And without really considering her actions or questioning him, Molly took The Doctor's hand.

_**Writer's Note:** _**Thank you for reading. X**


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Sherlock sat in the morgue, his eyes trained on the microscope. He'd found boot – like footprints at the crime scene (something a Soldier would wear, perhaps) and had managed to scrape a few samples from the mud once the idiot who'd named himself Rory had disappeared.

The results were... interesting. Intriguing, in the very least. Sherlock didn't mind at all for he felt like this was a chase and the thrill of the crime was hidden subtly behind the thrill of the chase. The sample had showed a type of rust, obviously due to metal. So the sole of the kidnapper's shoe had been made of a metal substance? Interesting.

Oh, how Sherlock _loved _the interesting cases. The ones where the possibilities were endless and the outcomes could potentially end up terrible.

_Yes._

However, there was one tiny, almost insignificant problem.

John.

Sherlock needed a second opinion and due to the fact that he was still mad at John, (He refused to believe that he was in the wrong. _Him? Wrong?_ Ha!) a second opinion was very hard to come by.

He'd even considered asking Molly but she seemed to be absent. Hm. Sherlock's brows furrowed. Odd. Oh, she probably was at home due to a hangover, after a drunken night of trying to get over him. Sherlock rolled his eyes. How very _human. _

A sigh escaped his lips. Sherlock knew he'd have to ask John sooner or later and sooner meant that he could still be annoyed later, whereas later meant he wouldn't have time to be annoyed later.

Yes.

Leaving the microscope and the sample on the table, Sherlock left the room, the door swinging wide open.

John had taken a permanent position in Barts where Sherlock could get to him easily if he were needed. At first, the plan had sounded rather efficient but once Sherlock realised that John _wouldn't_ leave a patient to see him, the idea seemed completely and utterly ridiculous. Time wasting. Idiotic. What was the _point? _Ugh. Still, that didn't stop him striding in, his coat flowing behind him, upper lip curled, trying to seem somewhat impressive. Surprisingly, impressive didn't work on John. Why had Sherlock decided to keep him, again?

The halls seemed bright, the sun seeping through the windows and lighting up the blinds. Not that Sherlock really noticed. He didn't care much for sun.

There was a woman in front of him. Aha! This is what he _did_ care for. Not the woman. The deducing. Keeping a steady pace behind her, his eyes narrowed slightly as he took in his appearance:

Thin.

Very thin.

Not too thin.

Cares about her appearance.

Hair. Red.

Curled at the end.

Obviously doing her hair was time consuming.

So she cared about her appearance?

Heels.

Again, cared about her appearance.

Not a nurse or a doctor, oh no.

Visiting?

No. She held herself upright. Visiting a sick patient would mean some sort of defeat in bodily posture.

Hm.

Who was she?

He didn't have time to find out, for she disappeared down another corridor. Ugh. Maybe he'd see her again?

Sherlock pushed the woman from her mind as he opened John's door, waltzing straight in. Of course, the annoyed expression crossed his face and the man sat in the chair opposite him showed Sherlock that he was with a patient. Why did he look so angry? He's only walked in on a broken ankle. This time.

"Sherlock!"

"John. I advise you come with me."

"Are you having a laugh?" John asked, shaking his head, "Leave now."

"No."

"I'll have you thrown out!" Then he paused, turning to his patient, "Sorry about this."

"It's fi -"

"Oh yes, we're so dreadfully sorry," Sherlock interrupted, throwing a patient a tight smile, "Now, listen. It's about the disappearances."

"I figured what it was bloody about, Sherlock," John snapped, rubbing a hand over his eyes, "For goodness sake."

Sherlock's brows knitted together. Why couldn't he just understand? Was it so hard for his pathetic, small minded brain to grasp the concept of how important it was? Obviously. "Two minutes," He asked lowly, "Two moments of your time. That is all I'm asking, John. Be reasonable."

Both John and the patient shared a long look and, eventually, he sighed, signalling defeat. "Fine. _Fine._ Not a moment longer," He turned to the man again, "I'll call Nurse Williams to sort your bandage out, alright? I promise you, he's better than me at bandages." The man nodded but didn't make any speech. He was busy looking at his ankle so John continued: "I advise you keep to the bandages for three weeks, changing them every -"

"Two weeks and two days."

"Shut up, Sherlock."

"Two weeks and two days. Not any longer," He continued, "Any longer than that would be idiotic, considering your patient plays football and I'm sure he'd want to get back out on the field as soon as possible."

The man looked perplexed. "How did you know that?"

"Oh, please, _please_ don't encourage him."

Sherlock opened his mouth to speak and shock the two people in the room, when there was a light knock at the door. All three heads turned in it's direction as it opened, almost painfully slowly. A man wearing blue - "Rory."

Rory stopped as soon as he'd made his way into the room, glaring at Sherlock, "It's _you._"

"Well done. I see your IQ hadn't improved much since the last time we spoke."

"Rory?" John asked, "You know Sherlock?"

"Oh, I know him," He answered darkly. He didn't notice the patient looking between them all, becoming more and more irritated.

Sherlock couldn't help but eye roll. "If I were you, John. I'd see to your patient."

"No. NO. I've had enough!" The patient told them, standing up, balancing on one leg, "I'm LEAVING. And expect a complaint."

"Don't be so ridiculous."

"Please, Mr Brown -" John began, trying to make his voice sound somewhat soothing. It was wasted effort, Sherlock thought, as the man hobbled towards the door, slamming it aggressively behind him. The silence which followed after could have been cut with a knife. Naturally, Sherlock decided to break it:

"Well. How eventful. Now, if you would, John," He gestured to the door.

"Are you kidding? You just lost him his patient," Rory cut in before John could.

"Yes, thank you Rory. Now, come alone John."

"Fine. _Fine. _I'll go with you but don't expect me to be happy it," John told him, glowering as he made his way to the door, "And later we're going to _talk _about this."

"No. Not talk. Never talk. Speak? Yes."

John didn't say anything as he made he way straight out the door, and Sherlock strongly suspected that the move he'd made was bad. Well, how was he to know there was a patient? He caught Rory's eye, who also glowered at him. Oh, _really? _The urge to eye roll almost consumed him. Almost.

Then there was a crash from outside and eye rolling flew out of Sherlock's mind. He ran outside to find John on the floor. Opposite him was a young woman with startlingly red hair. Oh. She was the one he had been following.

"John, what are you doing on the floor? Get up."

"Oh, I don't know. Perhaps I felt like a sit down," He snapped as he quickly pulled himself up, extending a hand towards the woman, "I am so sorry. I wasn't looking where I was going."

Her eyes brows raised slightly as she watched his hand, before she took it and allowed herself to be pulled to her feet, wincing. Sherlock's eyes narrowed.

Hurt.

Not wanting to let on.

"I should have been watching too." Ah. Scottish.

"It's perfectly alright. You looked like you were looking for someone. Maybe I can help," He pointed to his name tag, "Doctor John Watson, at your service." Sherlock let out a long sigh. Flirting.

The woman smirked, raising her brows again, "Amy Pond. And, actually I was looking for – _Rory!"_

Rory, who had just emerged from the room assessed the situation and then spotted her.

_Oh. _Married.

Sherlock knew it from the moment his eyes found hers.

Sentiment.

Ugh.

"Rory, I've been looking all over for you," She said, a hint of anger sweeping through her Scottish accent, "We need The Doctor." Head tilted, Sherlock listened in. The Doctor? Intriguing. John listened too, confusion evident on his face.

"Okay. Why?"

She glanced over at Sherlock and John before taking a step towards Rory, her voice lowering slightly, "There's been another disappearance."

"_Another one?"_

"Yep. Near White Chapel," She then paused thoughtfully, a smirk taking over her face, "Want to check it out?"

"Oh..." He mirrored her expression, his smirk turning into a smile, "Do you think The Doctor will be there?"

"Most certainly."

He nodded before looking over at John, "I've got, uh business to attend to. Mind if I leave early?"

John, who seemed completely confused, stuttered over his words before fathoming a proper response, "Erm, okay. As long as you make up for it."

"Of course!"

Amy smiled at him, gently tugging his arm.

"Lead the way, wife."

"After you, husband."

Sherlock and John exchanged looks as they watched the pair of them make their way down the corridor and out the door. What was that about? Disappearance, did she say? John's eyes lit up and Sherlock knew all feelings of resentment had gone.

"Lead the way, flatmate."

"No. We're not doing that."

Sherlock led the way, anyway.


End file.
